


Grazing Angles, or: Five Times Lana Accidentally Walks in on Josephine, and One Time It Was On Purpose

by Saathi1013



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Exhibitionism, Genderswap, Infidelity, Multi, POV Female Character, POV Third Person Limited, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4952998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saathi1013/pseuds/Saathi1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://kinkfromuncle.dreamwidth.org/640.html?thread=878976#cmt878976">a prompt on the MFU kinkmeme</a>:</p><blockquote>
  <p>N/I genderswap, voyeurism/humiliation: Josephine gets off when Lana walks in on someone else doing something absolutely shameful to her. Multiple times. It's getting to be a habit.</p>
</blockquote>Once again (as in <i>si fueris romae</i>), it's not Napoleon but Josephine (played by Eva Green) - but this time, it's <b>also</b> not Illya but Lana, not Alexander Waverly but Alexandria, and not Gaby but Gabe/Gabriel.  (ie almost everyone is subjected to Rule 63)
            </blockquote>





	Grazing Angles, or: Five Times Lana Accidentally Walks in on Josephine, and One Time It Was On Purpose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kleenexwoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kleenexwoman/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [(Translation)五次Lana不小心撞見Josephine做愛,一次她是故意的](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5902489) by [notthechosenone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthechosenone/pseuds/notthechosenone)



> No beta, no translation from fluent sources aside from really thorough google searches (ie not just google translate) - any errors, if kindly pointed out, will be corrected with alacrity.
> 
> Translation into Chinese by JC/notthechosenone is also available at: http://www.movietvslash.com/thread-189931-1-1.htm

**\- One -**

 

Josephine likes mirrors. Not because she's vain, precisely - although she is, and isn't sorry about it in the slightest, not when her looks are the keenest blades in her arsenal, second only to her mind - but because they let her glimpse the unexpected. How people see themselves, for one: the satisfaction or the disappointment as they glance at themselves in the mirror to check their hair, their teeth, the line of their tie or the seam of their pantyhose. Josephine also uses them to keep tabs on pursuers of more than one type, paramours and rivals with their eyes avidly fixed on her, following the sway of her hips and the flick of her wrists.

Now, she's appreciating the expressions flitting across her partner's face as he fucks her, slow and steady and controlled, taking his time like she's a five-course meal, when she glances at the mirror over his wife's vanity table. She expects to see the shifting line of the Marquis' shoulders, his spine, the flexing of his flanks and thighs as he thrusts. She doesn't expect to see Lana standing outside on the balcony, face flushed and eyes wide.

Josephine can feel the corners of her mouth curling up at the sight, something warm and satisfied settling in her chest. Did Lana honestly not think Josephine could handle herself if she got caught sneaking around the estate? Men - especially rich ones - are all too easily convinced that a beautiful woman is infatuated with them. Josephine plans to let him tire himself out before slipping from his bed to photograph the submarine plans on her way out the door, no backup needed.

It's nice to know that Peril was _worried._

Sleeping with a married man isn't the worst thing Lana's caught her doing, but a shiver scuttles along Josephine's nerves anyway. She feels pinned, trapped like a butterfly behind glass as Lana's gaze takes in the scene.

The Marquis bends to kiss her, and when Josephine opens her eyes again, Lana is gone.

 

 

**\- Two -**

 

Josephine was alarmed for a minute there. This wouldn't be the first time a jealous wife cornered her for a little payback, after all. The Marquesa has her crowded up against an occasional table in the otherwise-empty drawing room, and Josephine had thought she'd have to cause an incident to get out.

But no. Eline hadn't hit her, or shouted, but had _kissed her,_ and Josephine had relaxed in relief, enjoying the rare indulgence of a woman's sure touch, the smell of perfumed hair and the drag of well-manicured nails along her skin. Eline has the fly of Josephine's trousers open, one hand working steadily between Josephine's legs, two fingers curling up and in while the pad of her thumb rubs slick, teasing circles around and around the one place Josephine needs it the most.

Of course, that's when Lana appears in the doorway.

Josephine arches, loud and wanton as she moans, partly to keep Eline from spotting Lana, partly because she _wants to._ She's not sure how she feels about Lana knowing this - or, at least finding out about Josephine's indiscriminate predilections in this particular way - but that exposed feeling is back. Not a butterfly, no, like she's on a stage.

(She had been onstage, once, as a magician's assistant. Helping dubious dowagers and giggling debutantes into a cabinet where they disappeared and reappeared, too distracted by the magic and the applause to notice jewelry that never managed to reappear.)

It doesn't take her long to come; she doesn't notice when Lana leaves, too busy putting on a show.

"Henri told me you tasted divine," Eline says, fastidiously licking her fingers clean like a cat. "He wasn't wrong."

 

 

**\- Three -**

 

The third time it happens, it's at UNCLE HQ, and Josephine is kneeling on the truly atrocious carpet in Waverly's office when she hears the door open. She'd been bored and, well, her file doesn't have a handwritten addendum saying, _enjoys undermining authority figures_ for nothing.

Alexandria must not hear the click of the latch, distracted as she is with Josephine's head between her legs, but Josephine catches it, the indrawn breath, the mumbled _"Извините" 1_ before the door shuts again.

Or maybe Waverly is exactly as perceptive as a woman in her position ought to be, because when Josephine finally comes up for air, she looks flushed and flustered and faintly abashed. She tries to sound stern when she tells Josephine, "That can't happen again, you understand?"

Josephine wipes a smudge of lipstick from the corner of Alexandria's mouth and affects a disappointed moue. "Not even to repay the favor?" she asks, and Alexandria goes from pink to fuchsia. "Let's compromise on 'not at the office.' You _do_ know where I live, don't you?"

She can tell from Alexandria's stammering that she won't take her up on her offer, and that's fine. Josephine has no desire to settle down with her boss, and Alexandria is clearly the settling-down type. Josephine excuses herself to the ladies', locks the door, and brings herself off twice, remembering not the sighs and whimpers she'd coaxed from her superior, but the sound of Lana's gasp.

 

 

**\- Four -**

 

The fourth involves a three-star general _and_ his wife, a blindfold, silk ties, hot wax, a cucumber, and a bathtub full of champagne. The less said about that occasion, the better.

 

 

**\- Five -**

 

Gabriel has been fidgeting all night, and taking the kinds of breaths that mean he wants to say something. Whatever it is, it tangles in his throat and his courage gives out before he puts the words in the right order again. It's distracting, and they can't afford to be distracted, camped out as they are in a truck in the middle of the woods in Northern Ireland, right near the border, surveilling a drop point for some nasty arms dealers.

"I know about the transfer request," Josephine tells him, and he exhales heavily.

"How-? Never mind," he says, shoulders slumping. "Are you upset with me?"

"Should I be?" she asks. She's pretty sure that she's just the trial run for his talk with Lana. "You're not leaving UNCLE entirely. We'll see each other."

"Yeah," Gabe says, sighing again. "I feel like I'm letting you - both of you - down."

Josephine laughs, not unkindly. "We've each worked alone before meeting, we can work together without you. You go back to your garage and we can call you when we need a wheelman."

"...all right," he replies, looking dubious.

"Have you told Lana yet?" she asks. She knows the answer, but maybe letting him talk it out will help him later.

"...no," he says, a broken note in his voice, his mouth crumpled unhappily. Josephine suddenly understands.

"You're leaving because of her."

Gabe ducks his head. "Partly," he admits. "It's not that I don't think she - either of you - can handle herself. Yourselves. I just don't want to be there to  _watch it._ Does that make sense?"

Josephine imagines his heart breaking in increments, every time he watches Lana come back with blood on her hands, in her teeth, every time Lana stands between him and some THRUSH goon perversely amused by the idea of breaking a statuesque blonde in half before taking out UNCLE's pesky field technician.

"It does," Josephine tells him. "Did you two ever... do you think it'll be easier if..."

"No," he says in a small voice, and: "I don't think so." Josephine's heart breaks _for_ his then, and a little for Lana's, too.

The arms dealers show up; they break out the directional microphone receiver and huddle together, each with one ear pressed against one of the headphones, listening. It doesn't take more than half an hour, all told, and the fragments of information they pick up are enough to go on. They'll start the real work when Lana arrives tomorrow afternoon.

They wait another hour in the dark, wrapping blankets around themselves and passing a thermos of lukewarm, mildly spiked tea back and forth, trading "remember when" stories from their time in the field, until they think it's safe enough to go back to their hotel. They bump shoulders companionably as they climb in the elevator, traverse the length of the hallway to their rooms. Gabe turns to his door first, fitting key to lock and pausing. In the silence, Josephine stops on the third of the seven steps it takes to get to her own room, and turns.

"I know I'll still see you," she says, "but I feel like I should have gotten you a going-away present anyway. Do you want-"

"Yes," Gabe confesses before she can finish, expression unreadable as he stares at the doorknob under his hand. "Ever since the night you got me over the wall." It's not exactly a surprise that he's attracted to her; it is surprising to hear him admit it.

One, two, three steps, and she's back at his side. "Are you going to open that door, Teller?" she asks, and he does.

It's sweet, not something Josephine usually appreciates, but with Gabe, it's as comforting for her as she hopes it is for him. That's not to say there isn't passion, but the heat is that of a hearth fire, not a kerosene explosion. He's slight and shorter than she, all wiry limbs and strong hands and an astonishingly skilled mouth. If she'd known, she might have tumbled him sooner.

Or she might not. Because she doesn't shit where she eats, _undermining authority figures_ notwithstanding, and partners in bed make poor partners in the field.

There'd also been Lana, fixed firmly in his affections. But it seems that ship has sailed, more's the pity. They might have worked out if Gabe intended to pursue Lana while working in the tech division, if they had gotten just enough space to minimize professional complications. Or they might not. They'd at least have had a better chance.

When Josephine hears the door creak, she thinks it's the maid, who (if history is any indication) will poke her head in and then, mortified, duck back out. The door closes soon enough, and Josephine puts it from her mind, too busy rocking over Gabe in a smooth, steady rhythm that has him biting his lip and staring up at her with something akin to awe.

She's teetering on the edge when she catches movement in the light reflecting off the metal base of a sconce on the wall above the nightstand. Only amateurs turn immediately, before taking an extra second to evaluate, so Josephine has time to identify Lana's tall figure, arms crossed. The reflection is too distorted to read her expression.

Josephine counts back in her head to when she heard the door open and close. Lana's been here for five minutes, give or take. Watching? Waiting? Josephine's face burns as the realization sets in.

And throughout the span of moments it takes Josephine to process all this, she's still moving, Gabe's still pushing up in counterpoint, his hand is still curled between them where their bodies join, and heat is still building in her spine. Knowing that Lana is - _has been_ \- watching shouldn't make it better, but it does, and Josephine shatters apart, sensation coursing through her until she's incoherent with it, barely aware of Gabe following her over the edge.

Josephine climbs off him while the insides of her thighs are still trembling, turning to sit beside him, pulling up the sheet as more of a gesture towards civility than any actual modesty. Lana's expression is still unreadable, shuttered and dark.

"You're here early," Josephine comments, and beside her, Gabe jerks upright, post-coital haze burnt away in a moment.

"Lana," he says. "I-"

Lana closes her eyes, frowning, holding up one twitching hand, and he quiets. Josephine remembers the trunk of Gabe's car, the motorcycle in the mud, the bill for hotel damage, all during their first mission alone. She's seen Lana cause more damage since, has forgotten the danger of that violence when it's always been used to protect them, for as long as they've worked for UNCLE.

"Don't," Lana says. "Did you get the information?"

"Notebook in my handbag," Josephine tells her, mouth dry but voice miraculously even.

Lana turns, steely control in every line, every movement of her body. She retrieves the notebook, lets the handbag drop to the carpet, and leaves. Gabe stares after her, aghast.

"Oh, you twit," Josephine says, slumping back against the headboard. "Go _after_ her already. For heaven's sake."

He scrambles to comply.

 

 

**\- (Plus One) -**

 

The rest of the mission goes off like clockwork: clean, precise, and cold. Lana doesn't speak to either of them unless it's mission-related, Gabe is jumpy, keeping a measured distance from both of them at all times, and Josephine feels like a spring getting wound tighter and tighter. If it hadn't been for the shootout with a few _private contractors_ during their escape, she might have thrown a punch at Lana just to break the tension.

For the record, Josephine does prefer getting clipped by a bullet to getting thrown through another bathroom stall.

She half expects Lana to put in for a transfer, too, the top UNCLE team fragmented in one fell swoop. The prospect is dreadfully disappointing, if only because they'll be proving the naysayers right, that an international team is doomed to failure. But no such announcement comes; at the end of the debrief, Waverly brings up Gabe's transfer, gives them all a week off, and sends them on their way. It's a particularly dismal February, and Josephine will be damned if she spends it in New York.

So naturally, she goes to Rio.

Three blissful days of Carnival later, Josephine has spent each day lifting baubles solely for the effervescent rush it gives her, each evening dancing until her feet go numb, and the early pre-dawn hours in someone else's bed. Then she wakes at noon, slips away for coffee and a hearty meal, sends another blank postcard to Gabriel, and starts all over again.

On the fourth night, she heads to her hotel with a new... _friend_ in tow only to find Lana waiting for them. For her.

"Get out," Lana says, standing, and Josephine's latest paramour vanishes like smoke, leaving behind nothing but glitter smudged on Josephine's palms and the lingering scent of freesia. Josephine's face burns, more Pavlovian than from genuine shame.

Lana isn't wearing heels and Josephine is, so they're almost at a level, but Josephine feels dwarfed anyway. "That was rude," she says, closing the door and dropping her purse on the coffee table.

"You left the country without checking in," Lana says.

"I'm allowed to take my vacations wherever I please," Josephine reminds her, turning away to the bar but keeping an eye on Lana via the refection on the silver ice bucket. "So long as I come back in time for the next mission." Her leash extends around the globe now, and she could slip it anytime she likes, but- _ah._ Lana hadn't thought she was coming back, this time.

"You didn't check in," Lana repeats, "if we're speaking of _rudeness._ "

Josephine turns with a wholly cosmetic glass of rich amber cachaça and an indifferent expression. Not for the first time, she feels like a bullfighter, staring down Lana like this. There's no Gabriel there to defuse the tension, deflate their posturing, and they're alone, no mission to focus on, no bystanders to watch out for. Josephine wonders if Lana has a gun tucked in her trench coat; there's no tape, no watch, to offer this time. "Drink?" she asks instead.

Lana's eyes narrow, and she stalks across the room in long strides. Josephine keeps herself from flinching, even when Lana keeps coming, right into her personal space, toe to toe. Lana plucks the glass from Josephine's hand and downs it with one long swallow, keeping her eyes fixed on Josephine the entire time. She sets the empty glass back on the bar with a click; she needs to lean into Josephine to do so.

"I wanted to talk to you," Lana says. "I called. I went looking. I had to lie to the UNCLE booking agent."

Josephine hides the smile that threatens to bubble up. She hadn't covered her tracks; she'd even used her real passport as a courtesy to Waverly. It wouldn't have been difficult for Lana to track her movements. It's a process, though, and a time-consuming one if Lana hadn't initially known she'd left New York.

"Why, Peril," she says. "I never knew you cared."

Quick as a flash, Lana's hand comes up and closes around Josephine's neck, unyielding as iron but without cutting off her air. "I wanted to talk to you," Lana says again. "It took me three days to find you, and here you are _cavorting_ like-" Her lip curls, baring her teeth; Josephine wants to feel them in her throat. "There is _money on your dresser._ "

Josephine wants to laugh. "I'm not _whoring_ myself, if that's what you're worried about. I stole it." She lifts one hand, wiggles her fingers in emphasis. "Just a bit of fun, that's all."

"Is that what Gabriel was to you?" Ah, there it is. "A bit of fun?"

"Maybe," Josephine says. It's not lying when she hasn't figured out the truth yet. "He's a grown man, what's it to you who he sleeps with? It's not like you were going to-" Lana's grip tightens fractionally, and Josephine just smiles like Lana can't feel her pulse pounding against her palm.

"You will not sleep with him again," Lana declares.

Josephine gentles her smile and her voice. "All right, Peril, he's all yours. You've made your point. You can go home now, and let me-"

"No," Lana says. "That is _not_ my point."

And then Lana kisses Josephine, hand still on her neck, so when Josephine moans into her mouth, she must feel the vibration in her fingertips. Josephine grabs the lapels of Lana's coat and hauls her closer, opening her mouth to take everything Lana gives her, layered with a sweet, rich kick from the cachaça.

"Greedy," Lana mumbles against her mouth. "Are you ever satisfied with _anything?"_

"Let's find out," Josephine says, and twists, pulling Lana along as she backs up towards the bed.

Later, exhausted and bruised and boneless, Josephine stares up at the ceiling above the bed, tracing the cracks in the plaster and the sunny yellow paint. Maybe she'll give up her rule about not fucking her partners. It will be Lent soon, after all.

  

  

  

\-- end --

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Russian: excuse me/pardon me
> 
> Also: I do not recommend bathtubs filled with champagne, they're unhygenic.


End file.
